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I wake to an overbearing whistle coming from my alarm clock insisting that I wake myself just enough to crawl from my comfortable bed, where I was dreaming I was on a beach with a fruity drink in my hand and my toes in the sand, I stumble along the hallway to my children’s room in attempt to only wake my oldest son, my youngest son is home-schooled so why poke a sleeping bear, of course the older child is loud, moments later wakes his brother, the house if filled with the smell of coffee and pop tarts and the sounds of my boys fighting, or maybe those are wild animals loose in their room, one is then off to bus while the other struggles to get motivated to put pants on, does it matter he is home-schooled pants are not needed, I struggle to do housework while helping my youngest with school work, the school day is over and the boys are together again, one would think they would’ve missed each other, they did not, as the yelling starts up again, why would they look at each other, or breath on each other, as I stand in amazement, dinner what dinner, it is an afterthought as the doorbell signals dinner is served, end of night rituals begin, and as they lay in bed sleep, I sit here working my own homework daydreaming about sleep, only to have this all happen again in a few hours.

“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”

― Henry David Thoreau

This quote resonates with me, the truth behind the words. We can experience thousands of days in our life, but are we truly living? Are we pushing ourselves to find profound experiences that one day are worth telling?